


Textbooks and Chalkboards

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Teachers, Art Teacher Castiel, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, M/M, Music Teacher Dean, On Hiatus, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-17
Updated: 2014-09-16
Packaged: 2018-02-17 17:09:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2316983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Art has always been Castiel Novak's passion, ever since he was old enough to pick up a pencil. It fascinated him like nothing else he'd ever come across; he was utterly consumed by it.</p>
<p>So when Castiel starts his new job at a High School in Lawrence, Kansas - fresh out of teacher training - he is reluctant to acknowledge his rapidly growing fascination for his colleague, Dean Winchester.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Textbooks and Chalkboards

**Author's Note:**

> This is just an introductory chapter for an idea that came to me and then spread like wildfire.   
> Un-Beta'd so all mistakes are my own.

**_Chapter One_ **

 

Art had always been Castiel Novak's passion. Ever since he was very young, he had been transfixed by it. As soon as he was old enough to pick up a pencil, he started spending hours and hours scribbling away, filling notepad upon notepad with ideas and creations that poured from his fingertips. The older he got, the more he began asking for pencil sets and real sketchbooks for Christmas' and birthdays. Then, he moved onto paints and canvas'. An easel. Anything he could use to spill his creativity onto. His idea of a fun day trip was to the local art gallery; he could spend hours there, analyzing every inch of every piece and trying to work out the mindset behind whoever was behind that brush or pencil. He would've given anything to see his artwork hung from those walls.

Needless to say, the art world ,was a very hard business to crack and although Castiel had always been told he had phenomenal potential, he was no Dali or Van Gogh. He hadn't gotten his break yet and, while he was somewhat dejected about that, it never stopped him from picking up a brush. He had never decided which he preferred more; landscapes or portraits. Eventually, he decided that they had a lot of similarities. The curves and dips in the horizon were similar to the contours of the human body and each was dependent on shadows and patterns of light. Castiel did, however, paint landscapes more often since he was far too shy to ever ask someone to model for them. He didn't think he was good enough to show them the finished product if they asked, either.

That's why, in the end, Castiel resorted to teaching. It never killed his spirit and it meant he didn't have to deal with rejection upon rejection. He could babble about art and help others find their muse in the hope that one of them may have the success that was always out of Castiel's reach. He was not deluded by misconceptions that he was anything groundbreaking in the art world.

Castiel had just finished his training and today was his first real day of lessons. He'd been in once or twice to run through meetings and discuss lesson plans but he'd yet to meet most of his colleagues or teach a class. Under normal circumstances, Castiel would have been awfully nervous but right now, he was dreading it. He was late. By now, he should've been in 2 minutes ago but instead he was _still_ on the road, gripping the wheel in frustration as his car got stuck in even more traffic. This was ridiculous.

The rain hammered against the windscreen of Castiel's car as he drove. The wipers were not doing much besides smearing the onslaught across the glass despite the rapid back and forth movement. He sighed and gripped the wheel tighter, glancing at the dashboard to see the time click over yet another minute. Great. When the traffic in front of him dissipated, he stepped on the accelerator and tried to stay on the very edge of the speed limit, going as fast as he could within legal boundaries. Yes, he wanted to get to work soon but he wasn't one for breaking the law. Certainly not in weather like this. He was always anxious to drive in the rain because it always made the tar of the road surface a little slippery and Castiel was somewhat of a nervous driver since it hadn't been that long since he passed his test.The rain was bouncing off the hood of the car, a vicious onslaught that plagued the early August morning. So much for summer. His eyes flitted over to the clock again and noted that it was 8:36 now. 6 minutes late already. On his first goddamn day of having classes. Unbelievable. He sighed as the first few bars of some old slow song drifted through the car from the radio, adding to the morbid mood settling inside the car. He would usually appreciate this song and hum along but today he just reached over and switched it off so that the patter of rain was his only company.

It had been only a few months since Castiel had finished his training to become a teacher and he had somehow managed, thanks to an amazing reference, to get a job within a couple of weeks. He might lose it already, he thought to himself with a bitter laugh. He was the new art teacher at a High School in Kansas and the school year started today. It would not bode well at all if he were late to his first class but it was becoming more clear to Castiel that it was becoming somewhat inevitable.

A rumble of thunder shook through the clouds above him, echoing in Castiel's ears. He sighed and glanced out at the sky, observing how the dark, brooding clouds seemed no closer to dissipating then they had when he had set off from his flat. The sky was a bleak and smoky grey, spreading across every inch of milky white like a disease. When the sky was momentarily set ablaze by a streak of lightning, cutting a path through the consistent grey, Castiel decided they were destined for the rest of the day to be as miserable as it had started. His car slid into yet another traffic jam, the scatter of horns beeping breaking through the almost deafening sound of the rain relentlessly hitting the glass work and streaking lines down the window before they were swept away by the wipers.

Eventually, at 8:56am, Castiel slid his car into a free parking space behind the art block, pulling up beside a very worn but well looked after black car. He recognized the model but it didn't come to mind straight away. He climbed out of his car, shivering at the downpour and grabbed his briefcase, pulling his jacket around him to prevent the rain from seeping through his clothes. The last thing he needed was to turn up shivering and wet. He pushed the double doors open with his shoulder and hurried inside, relishing in the thick warmth that curled around him as soon as he got into the corridor. He was thankful for the central heating that ran through the entire building. It was then that it dawned on him that he had no idea where his classroom was located in the building.

He cursed to himself and made his way down the corridor, ignoring the telltale smell of _life_ that drifted through the corridor and the whitewash walls, hoping he would miraculously stumble across his classroom. He didn't. Instead, when he rounded the corner, he collided straight with a solid, well-built body. He yelped and looked up to see a pair of green eyes looking down at him, eyebrows raised.

"Whoa, easy there." The man chastised lightly, a smile gracing his features.

"S-sorry. My apologies." Castiel mumbled, straightening his jacket out. The man in front of him laughed and it ran through Castiel like honey warming his shivering bones. His blue eyes flitted up to meet green that he thought were too bright to be _real_ \- surely this man was wearing colored contact lenses. The man held a smile that lit up his entire face; a face that was dusted lightly with an array of freckles.

"It's okay. You must be the new guy, huh?" He asked, extending a hand. "I'm Dean. Dean Winchester; I teach for the music department."

Castiel's eyes darted down to Dean's hand and for a second, he forgot what common courtesy was. He had never met someone so beautiful before. Castiel always had an appreciation for fine human features, especially since he would spend his spare time drawing them but this man was exquisite. Castiel cleared his throat, realizing how uncomfortable Dean must have been with his hand lingering expectantly, so he swapped his briefcase over to his other hand and took Dean's hand, shaking it and hoping to God that it wasn't too soft or too eager.

"Castiel Novak. Art." He stated, finally looking back up at Dean. The man's eyes widened and he pulled his hand away after a moment.

"Jeez, your hands are freezing. I know it's raining but I didn't realize you were iceman." Dean teased and Castiel felt mildly offended for a moment before he saw the teasing grin spread across Dean's face and he realized that must've been the way he _was_. He felt a warmth spread across his cheeks and told himself that it was his body warming up in contrast to the bitter storm that was raging outside.

"Uh, my a-" He began but was cut off.

"You don't need to apologize again. Need me to show you the way?" Dean raised an eyebrow, gesturing to the corridor that stretched out behind him.

Castiel nodded sharply and muttered something about how he would appreciate that before he was being led down the corridor which looked ridiculously identical to the one he was just in (he was going to suck at finding his way around, he decided), following in Dean's footsteps. The other man took long, broad strides and, even though Castiel was only an inch or so shorter than him, he had to hurry to keep up with him and walk beside him. He let his eyes dart over his colleague, taking in the sight of his black shirt that fitted over his clearly toned chest and the curve of his legs in the dark jeans he was wearing. It had been a long time since Castiel had met someone that he wanted to paint every curve of but there was something about Dean's sandy blonde hair, bright green eyes and sharp jawline that had Castiel staring like he usually did a work of art in the local gallery. As an artist, Castiel always stared at beautiful people.

"It's just down there. First classroom on your left." Dean told him, smiling a little. Castiel watched as Dean checked his watch and raised his eyebrows. "Aren't you... late?"

"Yes." Castiel grumbled with a sigh. "The traffic was worse than I had anticipated. Thank you.... Dean."

Dean nodded and slapped a hand on Castiel's shoulder. A strange shiver ran through Castiel's body and he told himself it was because of the heat of Dean's hand compared to the cold dampness of Castiel's clothing. He took a sideways glance at Dean and caught his eye, exchanging a smile.

"No problem. It was nice to meet you, Castiel."

When Dean retreated, Castiel couldn't help but watch him walk away. He sighed to himself and entered his classroom, hugging his briefcase to his chest. The raucous and excited babble and laughter of the students catching up after the long summer died down until it reached a low murmur as more and more pairs of eyes fixed their gaze on Castiel. It was ironic that Castiel had chosen this profession when he didn't deal well with having a lot of attention put on him - especially when he knew how dull he really was - but once he started talking about art, all of the nervousness would always dissipate.

He set his briefcase down and shrugged his wet jacket off, hanging it up on the back of his chair so that his burgundy jumper was his main form of protection from the very faint bitterness that leaked through the seams of the windows. He rubbed his hands together and began organizing things on his desk as he spoke.

"Good morning, class." He said with a smile, opening up a program on the computer. "I'm awfully sorry for the delay this morning. I just discovered the true burden of rush hour traffic."

The class didn't speak much except for the odd whisper that Castiel was sure was the noise of students picking apart his appearance or his demeanor. It was to be expected though since he was a new staff member and he had to make a first impression on his students. Not like he had really gotten off to a good start. He rounded his desk and picked up the marker pen, walking to the board.

"I'm Mr. Novak," He scribbled his name on the whiteboard in his neat, curved handwriting as he spoke. "And I will be your teacher for the foreseeable future. You all look equally as thrilled to be here as I feel so lets make the first lesson of the school year as pain-free as we possibly can manage."

Once Castiel had handed fresh sketchbooks out and briefly ran over their curriculum for the next year, he settled into the class. Art was always something he could hide behind and bury himself in. He always had done. Art was bright and vibrant and interested. It bled color and screamed with personality. It was everything Castiel was not and the more he focused on that, the more interesting he could make himself appear.

Art was, in addition to that, an escapism for Castiel. There had been more times than he could count, whether it had been one of many family crisis' or the mocking of his peers when he had been the age of the students sat in front of him, where Castiel's thoughts and feelings would drip from his pencil or paintbrush onto a blank canvas. There were so many times when even the emotions he did not have the capacity to truly fathom would present themselves in his work as a spreadsheet of Castiel's mental state. His art made him vulnerable; it was private and intimate. It was everything Castiel did not have the courage to discuss and it was one of the reasons, among many others, why he was always reluctant to share his artwork with others. They were for his eyes only.

When the clock ticked over to the final minute of lesson and the bell rang sharply, piercingly, through the classroom, Castiel breathed a sigh of relief. That had not gone as badly as he had anticipated. His class, despite not being told that they were excused, gathered their things and poured out in a steady steam into the corridor beyond. The excited babble of summer-catch up returned and he smiled to himself as he sat at his desk. The vibrant atmosphere was something he could certainly grow to appreciate. It was like living, breathing art.

Once the crowd had scattered and his classroom was bare, Castiel glanced upwards and jumped a little at the sight of someone stood in his doorway, leaning against the door frame with his arms folded. Dean. Castiel swallowed hard and stilled the movement of his pen onto the book he was jotting notes in. He tried to shake away the reoccurring thought that Dean himself was a work of art and smiled casually. Castiel didn't do attraction, he didn't do relationships and he certainly didn't do sex. He hadn't since his first experimental exploration into both sexes in his teen years - he had discovered during this time that he was definitely gay if nothing else. Art was his passion. It always had been. That's why, when Dean flashed him that smile that made his blood run like honey, he told himself it was simply because a man of such beautiful features was fascinating to someone who enjoyed portraits so much.

"It's break time." Dean stated as an explanation even though Castiel had not asked for one. "I figured you'd need someone to introduce you to the rest of the staff. Come on, Cas, I'll show you the way." 

Cas? Had Dean given Castiel a nickname already? No one, except for his brother Gabriel, ever gave him a nickname (Gabriel always called him Cassie) and it was alien to Castiel's ears. As he stood up and exchanged smiles with the music teacher, he decided in that moment that he could get used to the nickname.

***


End file.
